Maybe
by myheartisyours0523
Summary: In which Finn hits his head, and Kurt comes to a realization.


**Disclaimer - I don't own it.**

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Kurt pressed his fingertips into his palm. They were numb and red; the cold air bit at his exposed button nose and flushed cheeks. The bleacher beneath him felt icy and hard through the seat of his favorite Gucci jeans. Stale popcorn mixed with body odor and old shoes invaded his personal breathing air; he parted his chapping lips to keep from inhaling the smell.

The McQueen jacket that had promised impeccable good-looks had not, in fact, promised warmth. Kurt pulled it closer to his thin frame, hugging himself tightly to preserve the body warmth that was quickly escaping through the thin cotton.

His teal eyes followed the tall form of his step-brother, who's skates made loud scraping noises against the ice, marking the otherwise untouched frozen surface. Finn, despite his lack of grace on the dance floor, had proved himself to be talented at ice skating.

_"Come on, Kurt. I don't want to go alone! The place will be totally dead." _

The words rang in his ears like a bad horror movie. The soprano shook his head, sighing. Finn always managed to rope him into the most idiotic and uninteresting things.

His toes, shoved hastily into his boots as Finn dragged him out the door, felt like they were about to break off.

"When you said 'winter fun', I was thinking more along the lines of a Pumpkin Spice Latte and snuggling up to _It's A Wonderful Life_."

Finn's short bout of laughter echoed across the empty rink. He didn't say anything; he just did a complicated-looking spin and gave a little wave. He'd tried (very diligently) to get Kurt to rent a pair of skates, but that was not at all a reality. Kurt had shut him down with a firm, "If you ask me to rent skates one more time, I will shank you in the middle of Nationals."

He circled again, scraping his skate loudly against the ice, and sent a wink in Kurt's direction just as he executed a loop-jump, teetering slightly on the landing.

"I never took you for a figure skater, Hudson." Kurt drawled, curling his fingers into his armpits to warm them. Finn shot him a dirty look, circled, and tried it again.

And promptly lost his footing and slipped.

His head made a cracking noise against the frozen surface; Kurt let out a little yell and scrambled to his feet. He snatched hurriedly at the small, hinged door and bolted, panicking, onto the ice.

Which, he realized too late, was not an entirely intelligent thing to do.

Kurt managed to grab at the railing before he made contact with the ground, his manicured nails scraping the old wood. He struggled to straighten himself; Finn groaned in pain.

Sheer panic and concern forced Kurt's fingers away from the railing. He lost his balance and dropped, hard, onto his knees. His palms found the ice, and he forced himself to crawl across the frozen surface, saying "don't move, don't move, don't move" over and over in a trembling voice that seemed to alarm Finn; the jock groaned again and lifted one arm, beckoning weakly to the soprano.

When he finally reached Finn, his step-brothers eyes were pinched shut, his nose scrunched in pain. Kurt's numb fingers reached out, his touch feathery against Finn's cold face.

"Kurt." The little puff of breath formed a cloud above his mouth. Kurt felt his stomach twist; Finn's voice sounded so _weak. _"My head hurts."

"I know, Finn."

One chocolate eye slipped open, regarding his friend with a confused expression. "As in, my head hurts and there's nothing wrong with me. It just hurts."

Kurt's fingers retracted, the warmth of them leaving Finn's face, and held two fingers in front of his one open eye. "How many?"

"Really? Seriously, I'm f-"

"_How many, Finn?"_

"Four?"

Kurt sat back on his heels. "We need to go to a doctor."

"Crap, there were only two?" He opened the other eye, squinting up at Kurt's thin pointer and middle fingers. "Just kidding. I see them now."

Kurt shook his head and crossed his arms, shifting from concerned friend to bitchy diva within seconds. "You, Finn Hudson, are a first class idiot. What were you thinking, exactly? Did it pass through your thick skull that you might hurt yourself, trying those stupid stunts? You're not professional trained, and that's putting it nicely. How do you think I would feel if you were permanently hurt?"

Finn cocked an eyebrow. "You don't have to worry about me."

"Except I do, Finn, because you do stupid things like this! First you hole up in your room, and then this stunt!" His teal eyes looked watery; Finn pushed himself into a sitting position (he faithfully ignored the pounding in his head) to get a clearer look into Kurt's face. The soprano hid his profile behind his hands and made a soft sniffling noise. Finn choked back a laugh. "You...you...you're completely unmanageable!"

"Kurt." Finn reached up, peeling Kurt's fingers away from his face. "Stop crying. Your eyes are pretty when you're not crying. They're like...turtle-oise."

Kurt peeked at him through his hands. "Turquoise."

"Yeah, that." Finn felt heat rush into his face; Kurt was giving him that look again. The confused look, the look that didn't understand him.

But lately, Finn couldn't really understand _himself_.

Because he had began to notice things.

Things like Kurt's pretty eyes. Things like the tight jeans he was wearing at that moment, wet from the ice beneath them. Things like his tinkling laugh, things like his witty comments and biting comebacks. Like the way he looked at Blaine.

Finn swallowed, feeling his heart drop into his stomach, and stopped trying to pull at Kurt's fingers. The soprano lowered them anyway, his teal eyes inspecting every inch of Finn's flushed face.

And hastily shoved himself into Finn's arms, hugging him tightly around the middle and mumbling softly into the curve of his neck, "Don't ever do that to me again. Understand?"

"Yeah." Finn buried his noise into Kurt's coconut-smelling hair, wrapping his long arms carefully around Kurt's lean frame. "I understand."

"Good." He shoved Finn away, sniffling, and struggled onto his feet. They slipped a little, shooting a look of sheer panic onto Kurt's face, but Finn reached up a hand and steadied him.

"God, you can't even stand on the ice in your real shoes?" Finn helped himself up (he rubbed inconspicuously at his temple, hoping Kurt wouldn't notice) and looked down at Kurt's pointed boots. "I thought you were good at everything, Hummel."

He didn't mean for it to sound like a challenge, but Kurt's eyebrow jumped into his bangs and his eyes narrowed. He took a few steps closer to Finn, glaring up into his chocolate eyes, and said acidly, "Almost everything, Hudson. But, unlike you, I choose to be good at the things that won't _kill _me."

"Hey." Finn's little crooked smile, too flirty to be mistaken for anything else, made Kurt look away. "Turn around."

His opposite eyebrow arched into his bangs, but after a moment of hesitation and a puzzled glance into the jock's profile, Kurt turned.

Finn sucked in a breath, prayed to God that he wasn't making a huge mistake, and pressed his broad chest against Kurt's back. The soprano stiffened, but didn't protest.

"Okay. Hold out your arms like you're conducting an orchestra." Kurt felt Finn's long fingers twist around his, his arms being lifted chest level, felt warm breath against the nape of his neck. He felt Finn's chest, pressed closely into his slightly arched back, and goosebumps erupted on his skin.

Because Finn never held him this close.

The fingers trailed up his arm, tracing a long line up his jacket, down his side, and pass carefully over his stomach. Kurt felt Finn's index finger press against his hip bone.

And then, they were swaying.

"...Like you're in Glee and Mr. Shue is making us do those hip drills." Finn was saying quietly into his ear, his words soft. Kurt wondered how the jock expected him to pay attention to words when he could feel Finn's pelvis circling into his backside.

His fingers slid down Kurt's hip, spreading across his thigh.

Kurt bit back a short gasp of surprise. His head lolled back, just slightly, onto Finn's shoulder.

"This leg - the left - goes first." The warmth of his palm felt like it was going to burn through the thin fabric of Kurt's jeans. It traced circles into his skin. An embarrassing sigh escaped Kurt's mouth; a pair of lips pressed into his jugular.

And then, he came to his senses, and gently pushed Finn's fingers (which were dangerously close to his zipper) off his leg. "I think you hit your head a little too hard, Mr. Hudson."

The lips against his skin lifted away, the warmth of them disappearing. Kurt choked down a unhappy sigh. When he turned to look into the jock's face, it was flushed bright red, and he was looking sheepishly down at his feet. Kurt felt his stomach twist into a thousand knots.

Because maybe Finn _hadn't _hit his head too hard.

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**Reviews are goodness.**

**TBC soon. :)  
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